


and behind the curtain, there must be reality

by satan_in_trouble



Series: homestuck [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Angst, Doomed Timeline(s) (Homestuck), F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, Light Angst, No Smut, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, in each chapter you're dating one of the beta girls in homestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23199274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satan_in_trouble/pseuds/satan_in_trouble
Summary: there are times - moments - when you can tell there's more to it.(she will never tell you what).
Relationships: Aradia Megido/Reader, Rose Lalonde/Reader, Vriska Serket/Reader
Series: homestuck [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689196
Kudos: 27





	1. a lack of light

sometimes, you think, it is incredibly hard to be in love with rose lalonde. 

rose spends her time flipping through old, honey-tinted books, filled with symbols you can’t comprehend. she knits things - a long pink scarf. a small black cat (with multiple white eyes). a thing she calls a ‘consort’, which is really just a purple turtle. 

she does things like that - rose will say something, or toss you a look, stuff you don’t recognize. she will talk about her dreams, she’ll mention a swell of inky tentacles, or a large violet city, and on occasion she tells you about the dreams where she’s someone else - where she’s much younger, where she knows a grey-skinned woman, where the entire path she took is different. 

the look on her face when she told you that was so sick, like she missed the last train out of the station. it lasted barely a second. rose has impeccable control over her emotions.

your evenings are often comprised of a home-made dinner, curling up on the couch together while playing music or an old movie, and rose eventually placing a peck on your lips before returning to her computer. 

when you ask, she says she’s writing, or speaking to her friends. she has mentioned someone named dave, her brother, but you’ve never seen him or his last name. rose sighs and says, a bit too smugly, that is for the better.

you met rose at one of her book signings, where she asked your name and later your number. it was thrilling, to be with such a witty and authentic person. rose is always true to herself.

you learned only later, once you had watched her disappear into your bedroom for the third month in a row - rose is not authentic. not in the slightest. she puts up a fine facade. her strange humor is because of how well-read she is. the bitter jokes that seem to insult you (in a way you cannot be fully sure of) are just her showing love.

you keep telling yourself that, keep brushing away the dirt to find the temple underneath. there has to be more than just a mask, there’s something else under the purple and black - a pool of color, yellows and blues and oranges and jades. 

but you’re lying. if there is an authentic rose lalonde, she is not in this timeline. she is not yours.


	2. exposed bone

aradia megido always looks a tad unearthly. her eyes catch light in a strange way, her hands move in a way that suggests floating, her skin seems grey under some shadows. the skirts she wears are torn, in odd places, but she insists on keeping them that way.

her home is full of skulls, bleached out and lovingly dusted. she has three ouija boards, the real ones, carved from wood. there are pictures of statues and frogs and the ocean, all set at night. she rarely sleeps in her bed, claiming it’s uncomfortable, and you sometimes find her passed out on the bean bag chair you bought her.

when aradia speaks, there is the slightest lilt you cannot place. she has told you her mother and sister are japanese, born and raised, and they both have strong accents - but aradia’s is not japanese, not fully. it doesn’t seem to be any accent on earth.

her hands are either warmer than they should be, or colder than possible. aradia has moods. she’s purely happy, smiling and excited to simply live, or she’s monotone, vacantly staring and completely unenthused about anything.

she likes to tell you stories (or what you think are stories). she lays on the rug with you and talks about a king she had to kill, about a video game she played, about a pure white ram that raised her. she mentions having red blood, but not the normal kind of red - more rust than rose.

you love her, all the same. aradia spends all the time she can with you. (she often jokes she has more time than anyone). she will clutch your hand as you watch old, flickering horror movies, entranced by the fake deaths. when she kisses you, it sends a chill up your skull - something about the way her skin feels, like she is suddenly alien to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these are all pretty short


	3. the last of the pirate queens, there in your bed

vriska. the word is sharp and she grips your arm like you’re about to run, like you’re another weapon, another thing to wield against her enemies. 

vriska. she brags about you like you aren’t there, she gives you trinkets like you’re a pet, she kisses you like you’re something to plunder, to take over.

vriska. the clothes she wears are ripped and well-loved, everything bright red or a cruel cerulean, all her jewelry gold and shiny. 

vriska. her teeth are pointed and her lips are blue and her hair is long, everything tossed easily and silkily over her shoulder.

vriska. she is built out of muscle and bone, wiry and harsh, her nails like needles and her speeches syrupy.

vriska. the smug grins and drawn out pouts and everything about her captivates you, even for a moment, because she isn’t even human, how she cackles at the world.

vriska. she likes to brag she’s a true blue-blood, that she comes from royals and pirates and outer space, and even if you know she’s joking, she seems out of place here.

vriska. the way she blinks is calculated, and if you kiss below her left eye, she flinches for a second, before pushing you off and laughing at you.

vriska. she stares at cliffsides and frogs and when it's windy, she runs outside, like she can't get enough of the breeze in her hair.

vriska. her dreams are vivid and she wraps herself around you like a web, clutching you to her chest as she mumbles out she loves you.

vriska. she hates too much sunlight and every morning is a toss of the dice, if she will kiss you or bite the hand you pass her coffee with. 

vriska. the world revolves around her - or at least, your world does.

**Author's Note:**

> so this is a book of one-shots where you (the reader) are with a beta homestuck girl,, but in a world where trolls/sburb/sgrub dont exist. i probs won't write jade just because i dont know how. updates whenever


End file.
